Starlocked
by Space Husbands
Summary: The one where Sherlock meets Star Trek. - Sherlock is a half-Vulcan scientist and John is his grumpy, irritable doctor. Join the inter-species pair as they venture into the unknown of space, danger, and... love? Poor Captain Lestrade's job would be so much easier without these two on his ship. - slow building intergalactic SxJW
1. The Human

_Title_: Starlocked

_Summary/Description_: The one where Sherlock meets Star Trek. Where Sherlock is a half-Vulcan scientist and John is his grumpy, irritable doctor. Join the inter-species pair as they venture into the unknown of space, danger, and... love? Poor Captain Lestrade's job would be so much easier without these two on his ship.

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_Author's Note: I just want to disclaim that I did NOT get this idea because Benedict Cumberbatch was in the latest Star Trek. I'm doing this because I believe Spock and Sherlock's characters are eerily similar, and in retrospect in a way so is John and Bones. I mostly just thought this AU too perfect and fun for me to pass up exploring. So this story is going to be loose- chapters varying in size and content. It's really just my guilty pleasure and I'm not entirely sure where things are going immediately. I guess just buckle up and prepare for warp! Warp into what you say? SPACE HUSBAND LAND._

_Disclaimer: And oh yeah, don't own._

* * *

_Chapter 1: In which there is John (the Human)_

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John Hamish Watson sighed as he saw the giant ship 221-B Baker on the space dock. It was undoubtedly a beautiful sight, if he wasn't so paranoid about going upon it. Not only for the vast increase in sickness through space, but for going back on duty as well. He knew himself to be no coward, but it wasn't getting any easier to recover from space fights.

He had been on leave for the past six months after an injury that had led him immobile for weeks, and then it took weeks more to recover enough to walk with a cane. And then of course they enlist him on the newest, shiniest (both literally and figuratively it seemed) ship with a young, genius crew.

And who was he? An old man with a bad leg that didn't do anything but help foster a surrey attitude. Oh yes, this was going to just go peachy keen.

John looked away from the window and assessed the crew for a moment. Young, handsome, beautiful - oh great. If it wasn't for Mike Stamford who had told him that there was nothing left for him on Earth, he'd still be there. He needed to get back to the stars, where he was actually excited about what he was doing. Not to allow himself to get stuck in practice at the Academy tending to cadets' sprained wrists and nausea. Nope - the professor had promptly made John fly back up.

John's assessment of those around him halted as he noticed someone was already studying him. Someone seemingly non-human, but then again a good portion of the crew were non-natives of Earth.

The odd thing was, with that nearly greenish tinge to his skin and dark hair he mirrored Vulcan physiology. Especially with that expressionless face, giving nothing away despite the vibrancy of his eyes. But he couldn't be Vulcan - because he had curly hair (and of course those piercing no-dark eyes). The idea that there was a Vulcan around who didn't have straight, bowl cut hair was like saying there was a human with purple those curls were so long that John couldn't even see which direction his eyebrows went.

Additionally, this man easily looked younger than the rest of the crew (except maybe that energetic girl with the mousy hair and black eyes, maybe a Betazoid). Jeez - they really were letting down regulation for age if this man was invited in.

John turned away with a half-chuckle, imagining the shame if he was a Vulcan to the rest of the species. To have that clearly unruly mop of curls atop his head, especially if it hid pointed ears.

Since John had turned back to window, he missed the man narrow his eyes and purposefully tuck some hair behind his ear to show the curved shell of his ear.


	2. The Half-Vulcan

_Chapter 2: In which there is Sherlock (the Half-Vulcan)_

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Sherlock's slopped eyebrows furrowed the slightest as the human turned away with an unattractive snort. Clearly the mammal was not looking out the window of the shuttle craft for pleasure; his increase in pulse and perspiration showed unease. Humans and their clear expressions of emotion - Sherlock turned away.

He inadvertently loosened the curls he'd carefully tucked behind his ears. Not showing any of the irritation he felt towards his hair, he brushed his bands away for the eighth time since entering this shuttle. The first thing he was doing after checking in at his lab station was to go to sickbay to demand a hair-cut. It would be so much easier if he did not have his mother's hair, but it would not be too much inconvenience. As they were obviously yet to land on a planet to give him the opportunity for samples, Sherlock would be left to his own devices for some time. He would curtail his curls with this time given.

If Sherlock was being honest and admitted to having a personal preference, he was not as ambitious and excited as the rest of the crew. Similar to the weary human, he did not find new-found excitement in this. But it was something to do past dying of boredom and suffocation from his father on Vulcan. And maybe if he was in a ship, Mycroft would leave him alone for possibly a light-year.

And holy teachings of Surak was he bored. Out of his skull, out of his ribcage, out of his bloody green blood! He needed something exciting, new viruses to thwart, new plants to cultivate, new species to capture, dissect and study. Despite how much death filled space, Sherlock was more than willing to risk it for a chance to discover.

In addition, not to unnecessarily repeat himself, but to get away from Mycroft. At multiple warps.

.

Sherlock's hands remained clasped behind his back as he strolled through the corridors. Despite his low rank of simple scientist, everyone in the halls parted for him. It might have been the intimidating height of a Vulcan, or his piercing eyes. Or maybe it was because his face was stone-still and didn't expect to take anything from anyone as he made his way to sickbay.

The door opened with a swish and he entered, his eyes flickering over the room and examining it for help. Soon enough, a girl in a white nurse uniform, plain brown hair pinned up, saw him with a start and made her way over.

"I require the assistance of the Chief Medical Officer," Sherlock said. He deserved only the best.

"Right away, sir," the girl noted before seeming to scurry away, but clearly having the time to look back at him two times before leaving from his sight.

Sherlock simply stood there, waiting and re-running calculations on warp diagnostics he knew would soon be in effect when they left dock. After approximately 130 seconds, he heard footsteps heavier than the girl's. Obviously the Chief Medical Officer. In addition, the third thumping noise of a cane.

He felt his head automatically tip four degrees in curiosity as Sherlock noted the irregularity of the male's steps - he obviously had some sort of preexisting injury. Interesting, that the doctor should be physically ailed.

"You called?" he heard ask out as the man rounded the corner, his eyes down to his cane in clear frustration.

"I require you to assist in cutting off excess hair."

For a moment the man simply stared at Sherlock. He was standing in front of him now, and Sherlock rose an eyebrow at the clear height difference. Yet despite the others in the heights, this man simply rose an eyebrow of his own.

"You need a haircut?"

"Affirmative."

He audible sighed before he waved his hand in clear meaning for Sherlock to follow.

"Good thing we're still at dock and all I've had to deal with is a clumsy Yeoman," the man grumbled.

They entered what Sherlock presumed to be the man's office. Sherlock supposed he did not need to sit at a bio-bed for his treatement, but it still felt oddly personal. He stiffly stood at the doorframe, taking some time to explore the room with his eyes as the man left to get the tools necessary for the procedure.

He arrived shortly after and motioned for Sherlock to take a seat before throwing a towel over his shoulders to prevent any hair follicles getting onto his blue science shirt.

"How did you find your time on Earth Colony Eleven?"

Sherlock watched the man fumble with the scissors he had just lifted out of the box. Despite their vast amount of advanced technology, it seemed this doctor was suited to old fashion methods. Incessantly human; incessantly unneeded. Yet Sherlock was curious about this man; he would take the extra time given.

"How- you looked up my file?" the man said with narrowed eyes.

"Negative. I can tell by the increased pigmentation above your wrist shown through your short-sleeved uniform shirt. You were constantly in need of wearing gloves for hygienic purposes. That colony was known for its attempts to live harmoniously with the environment that was harsh in sun and heat. Resulting in permanent skin alterations not common in other human colonies. It would be the only viable reason for you to have such a lasting skin coloration despite your recent, long hospitalization stint."

"Now wait a-"

"Earth Colony Eleven is another clear option for your past occupation, as there was a recent altercation with invading Klingons. There were severe casualties and injured; it is only plausible that you were injured in your attempts at a doctor to save citizens around you. Coupled with your skin, there is no other placement you could have been before boarding this vessel."

The doctor blinked before he did something nearly unthinkable to Sherlock.

He smiled. And then chuckled. Not in the exasperated, confused way on the shuttle - but something seemingly genuine.

"Explain," Sherlock demanded, eyebrows lowering.

"It was just- that was really bloody brilliant is all," he laughed before approaching him.

Sherlock wanted to say more, but was currently confused into remission. Regardless, the human had begun touching his hair and he needed to maintain strict order over his mental shields.

"And blimey! You really _are_ Vulcan," the human continued to say through his rejuvenated laughs.

Sherlock had a distinct urge to let down his mental shields - just to see if this human's emotions was genuine. But he refused himself.

"You did get one little thing off. I was a soldier doctor, not a civilian one," John informed.

"Yet you do not carry yourself with the strict posture curtailed by most security," Sherlock argued.

"Well, we humans tire easily," he said absently as he began clipping away.

There was silence for some time and Sherlock watched as his hair fell around his straight soldiers. He focused on the clipping sounds of the scissors and the fingers in his hair, absently stretching out the locks before snipping away. If Sherlock cared about physical appearance, he might have given verbal directions to the doctor, but he felt no such need. As long as the strands would not impede his vision.

"There. Now you don't look like you're twelve anymore," he said absently as he offered Sherlock a mirror.

"It is efficient," Sherlock noted upon. Based off of human physical beliefs, the shorter hair did highlight his cheekbones more, giving him an older appearance.

Sherlock stared up at John, who looked back at him expectantly. Sherlock noted upon the unwavering gaze; he would showcase his soldier attitude now that he had proven Sherlock's assessment fractured.

The half-Vulcan stood with a start, making John tense the slightest. Yet that could be because Sherlock had just thrown hair everywhere.

"Your name. That I cannot discern through observation," Sherlock stated stiffly.

"John Watson," the good doctor said with a slight smile that showed curiosity Sherlock similarly felt.

Sherlock resisted the urge to ask further questions and left sickbay with purposeful steps. It was only when he was halfway through the halls did he forget to take off the sheet covering his shoulders.

* * *

_AN: I just wanted to let you readers know that while I am following the main points of Sherlock, I am allowing myself flexibility in some aspects. It will not exactly mirror the show, because where's the fun in an AU then? For me it's about incorporating themes, but also messing around with circumstances. (it also gives opportunity to mess around with incorporating other things- like hello anyone get the John Watson blog reference of Sherlock's age?) Hope you understand, thanks for reading, and reviews are like tribbles! Warm and fuzzy and hopefully populate exponentially! _


	3. The Edible Variety

_Chapter 3: In which there is Food (of the Edible Variety)_

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John absently wandered into the cafeteria. He really didn't feel hungry, but he hadn't had anything since 0400 yesterday, and it was already 1900 of the next twenty-four hour cycle. Despite the oddness of forcing time in space, it brought at least some semblance of familiarity to the metal hunk. He felt a pang of guilt for humans monopolizing the time schedule, but then again their quartermaster was quite apt at adjusting to other species' needs.

Despite it being only two weeks into their five year mission, John had already patched up two security officers along with conducting an autopsy. So far, the planet the Federation had sent for first-contact hadn't been all that happy at the intrusion. As demonstrated through the three fists thrown into the security's chests, grabbing onto their sternum and _crushing_ it. John had only enough time to save two of the three.

Glancing around, John noted upon his personal nurse (Molly, who indeed was a Beltazoid, and seemingly more empathetic than any other he had met) as well as Captain Lestrade with his navigator and first in command Dimmock. And there was head of communications Donovan, and aside of her, the cheif science officer Anderson. Well, John was certainly not sitting at that table.

He turned to sit at one of the smaller tables by the edge of the wall, out of the way so he could enjoy his soup in peace. Just as he spotted an empty table, he spotted one that had only one individual on it. One with a mop of curls that he had cut at the beginning of this mission. So far, it was easily the most successful operation he had yet to accomplish.

"Do you mind?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up slowly and blinked once. John took that as a yes.

"Sorry that the first planet didn't like us long enough to take samples," John said to at least try some sort of a conversation.

Sherlock blinked again.

"Uh... your ears cold since your hair isn't insulating it anymore?"

Still silence - jeez, who knew Vulcans were so stuffy? Oh right - everyone.

"If you want me to leave-"

"Negative."

"...Alright then."

John tucked into his soup and Sherlock decided to simply stare at John. Not in the creepy-vibe way John had expected, but just in an acute observational way. Like he was a dirt sample that needed to be dissembled, sorted and sent through a minimum of three machines to be understood. Although, if Sherlock had discovered his last post, he was sure to figure anything else out of consequence just as effortlessly. Probably down to the borough John had grown up in through his accent.

"So if you're so good at observation, why aren't you the chief science officer? Why is Anderson?" John finally couldn't help but ask. It had nothing to do with Anderson and Donovan studying him nearly as intensely as Sherlock across the mess. He had never met or worked with them, but they were requested by Lestrade so... they couldn't be that bad, could they?

"Do not speak of that unexcused use of matter in my presence," Sherlock said in monotone, giving no indication of emotion to the sharp insult.

"At least it got you to utter _something_. You were seemingly so keen to learn everything short of my family lineage a couple weeks ago," John noted as he crushed some crackers into his soup. "And I'm not inferring you aren't head of the science department out of ability. That's why I asked what made you chose not have it. Because you obviously could if you wanted it."

Sherlock blinked yet again before looking down at his hands clasped in front of food he'd barely touched. And it was rabbit food at that - no wonder the Vulcan looked so thin he could topple over with a sub-space radio frequency.

"I do not want to have an exorbitant presence on this vessel."

"Who are you running away from?"

Sherlock stiffened.

"Let me infer-" John said with clear amusement now that Sherlock was in the hot seat. "You're clearly not interested in romantic involvement, so no recently-eloped-with woman-"

Sherlock raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"-or, or _man_. Nothing wrong with that."

"I know there is nothing incorrect in personal preference. You are talking to an alien by human standards. I believe sexual preference is elementary in retrospect."

"Right. So, not a romantic entanglement. And you don't seem the type for many mates, so... I'm guessing family? Brother?"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.

"You came to that conclusion deceivingly quick. You have a sibling you do not entirely approve of."

"Yup, two hyposprays to the same neck we are," John noted absently.

"Please refrain from using idiotic idioms."

"I can use whatever cultural colloquialism I want. And you just answered my guess."

Sherlock really liked this emphasized blinking thing. At least he had some way to express himself.

"Fascinating."

John resisted the urge to squirm under that penetrating gaze that impossibly intensified.

"Hurry in ingesting your nutrients," Sherlock ordered as he turned back to his food.

"Any reason why since we're still at warp with no patients or rocks to assess...?"

"John, there is always something to discover," Sherlock said with a glimmer in his eyes that made John believe he had just acquainted himself with a madman.

As he watched Sherlock viciously attack some baby carrots, he knew this man was out of his Vulcan mind. And John... didn't really have a problem with that. There were worse things than space sicknesses. (Like loneliness.)

* * *

_AN: Thanks for all the interest everyone! Also hope you can continue to find all the fun references to both Sherlock, John's blog, and ST (both TOS and the new movies). Love and Vulcan kisses!_


	4. The Dangerous, Killer type

_Chapter 4: In which there are Flowers (of the Dangerous, Killer type)_

.

"Didn't really take you for the... pink, frilly flower type," John noted as he continued to pet said pink flower that literally bloomed and flourished under his ministrations. It even gave off soft coos.

Sherlock approached, and the flower seemed to cower.

"It is inconsequential if my presence pleases it," Sherlock stated as he turned around, leaving the plant in John's obviously capable hands (as if him being CMO was not proof enough).

"So... you're exploring and experimenting. What are you cooking up, Frankenstein?"

"A fictional human scientist who unrealistically created artificial life through electrical currents. Hardly a correct comparison to myself."

"At least give it to me that I didn't confuse the Monster's name for Frankenstein."

Sherlock gave John a leveling gaze before turning back around, curls jostling around his curved ears with the movement. John had been tempted to trace them with his hands, as Vulcans were notorious about refusing medical examinations for study, but he had resisted. No use molesting some man's ears; especially when that man could easily punch through John's rib cage or throw him across the room into a hard, skull-cracking bulkhead (no matter how seemingly malnourished Sherlock appeared).

"I am experimenting in producing a more aggressive species of the human plant species Dionaea muscipula."

"Starfleet standard please."

"I am already conversing in-"

Now it was John's turn to level Sherlock with a look.

"I momentarily forwent your limited knowledge on scientific knowledge. I will not make the same miscalculation."

John resisted the urge to grumble about how yes, clearly every human should know the scientific name of every human plant species. Never mind that he knew every bone, muscle, and organ for nearly hundreds of alien species.

"Venus fly traps, I believe is their more common label," Sherlock supplied.

"What are you attempting to make the plant want to eat? Since there are clearly no flies buzzing about," John asked, trying to keep his voice steady. So yeah, out of his Vulcan mind sure, but... could he kill off everyone on the ship with a mutated plant? Probably not. Not nearly enough fertilizer, and there was the whole immobility of plants (or at least mainly for the fly trap) and phaser guns. Emphasis on the kill setting.

"Xindi."

"You mean... like how Anderson is of the Primate variation from there?"

"Your observational skills seem to be increasing simply through proximity to myself," Sherlock said. If he hadn't said it in his usual dead tone, John would have thought he had just made a joke, or shown a hint of pride. But just like lying, Vulcan's don't indulge in those sort of activities.

Although, when you throw in breeding a fly trap simply to annoy a co-worker... Sherlock definitely wasn't anything simple.

"Would it please you to meet him?"

"_Him_?"

"As I am on a ship that is, at the rounded up percentage, 76.87% human, I am endeavoring to understand cultural customs to improve cohabitation. I understand it is human tradition to gender and name pets."

"You count your Xindi-hungry plant as your pet."

"His name is Victor. He is quite peaceful to all others. Truly immobile."

John resisted the urge to bark out a laugh and break the hushed man-made atmosphere of the green house, but a strangled chuckle still escaped. John could have sworn he'd seen Sherlock's lips twitch in amusement.

* * *

_AN: Ok, so I really wanted to make Anderson a Saurian but... well I guess I'm not _that_ mean._


	5. The Red-Green Variety

_Chapter 5: In which there is Friendship (of the Red-Green Variety)_

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John honesty did not know how talking to a Vulcan twice automatically made it your best friend. Sherlock said it was because Victor had gone into remission from not having bitten Anderson since the beginning of their voyage and it was easier talking to something that constantly moved. And could talk back when allowed or beneficial.

Yet it seemed that Sherlock was somehow (John had no idea, he was just a boring, nearing middle-aged human) interested in John's existence and wouldn't leave him alone until he'd figured him out entirely. John didn't really know what to do with all the ill-disguised attention. As well as Sherlock interruptions during surgery where he'd state one life wasn't equal to the need for acquiring knowledge.

John's fledgling friendship was first tested when he went to visit Sherlock at the labs and noticed Anderson obviously flustered. His posture was ridgid with anger while Sherlock's was ridgid with... normalcy.

"That is a direct order, officer," Anderson literally hissed. "If you do not comply to my demand there will be repercussions."

"I do not see why I need to repeat something you have previous knowledge of. I do not appreciate or acknowledge your ill-advised belief to my involvement. In reason, must I need to repeat how I am an independent variant of this ship's command?"

"What is going on here?" John demanded.

Anderson turned to him with a snarl, Sherlock didn't look away from the Xindi's face.

"Sherlock," he spat out with a foreign rattle in his voice, "has stolen a plant from me."

John looked over at Anderson's station, which was unfortunantly close to Sherlock's. He had learned that the pink flower he'd liked the first day had been Anderson's. He hadn't touched it since - yet it seemed that someone had, as it was no longer there.

"I grieve at the lose of your pink flower, which no doubt was a great use of interaction for you, but that gives you no right to accuse a fellow crewman with no evidence," John stated evenly.

John ignored how Sherlock took a few steps closer to him, as if needing to be physically closer to the person who believed in him. It looked a little ridiculous as Sherlock was a good half-head taller than him. Not that John expected Sherlock to cower behind him like a child with its mother.

Anderson stiffened even more, seeming close to trembling in fury. "You should know I am the _chief officer_ of the science department-"

"And you should know _I'm_ the CMO who deals with you when you're sick or in need of check-ups. And what better place to insert a deadly disease than in sickbay? No one would think twice to wonder how you died of some untreated ailments from an antidote when you're already there. Never know what types of diseases you could have contacted on your last expedition. Not to mention I do the autopsies so- even then my tracks are covered. _Understood, '_chief?'"

Anderson's frame seemed to deflate in realization of John's threats. He then gave a final, half-hearted snarl to the pair before turning and slinking away.

"John-" Sherlock said with a start as his hands twitched at his sides.

"Come on, I'm hungry. And I saw all you ate for breakfast was an apple," John said as he turned to leave in the opposite direction as Anderson.

Sherlock followed along without a word.

"I haven't pulled rank in ages," John said fondly as they made their way out of the greenhouse.

"Did it please you?"

"Immensely," John said with a grin that Sherlock studied.

* * *

_AN: Can you say... foreshadowing anyone?_


	6. Of Copper

_Chapter 6: In which there is a Conundrum (of Copper)_

_._

John stared down at the four bodies on their individual autopsy tables. One had turned up the nearly forty-eight hours ago, and three had been found in the last twenty-four. And it was beginning to get to John, and more importantly, the rest of the crew. Even a seasoned captain like Lestrade did not know how to explain four crewmen dying in their sleep.

John's brow furrowed further.

It didn't help that the victims were all unconnected. One a yeoman (the boy), one an engineer (a middle aged man), a scientist (a woman) and then a security officer (another woman). All of varying ages, although they were all human. But that was most likely because as Sherlock had stated, nearly eighty percent of the crew was human.

All that John could figure was that they had died of some sort of shock to their system. There was no loss of blood, or signs of distress on the organs. The only clue as to their unnatural states was the slight red, seemingly tentacle marks left on their body, especially around their face. John sighed as he realized he should scrub down and look over their charts again.

"Doctor."

"Why are you calling me that now of all times? Is it because of I'm covered up to my elbows in blood? And how is it that you keep getting in here? Don't tell me Molly is still falling for that coffee request excuse."

"I do not see why you conduct autopsies like this when you could do it all through machine."

"Stop trying to change the subject, Sherlock. You have no clearance to be in here. Just because you like to use Lestrade's access codes when no one is looking-"

"John, I am simply invested in this investigation and want to offer my consultation."

John snorted as the Vulcan raised an elegant eyebrow.

"Ok fine, goodness knows it's always good for a fresh pair of eyes to look over things. Not the bodies, I really can't let you contaminate them."

"I do not desire to touch such... human evidence," Sherlock said with a slight upturn of his nose.

"Oh yes, because green insides are so much better. Now get out before Molly comes back with that cuppa."

Sherlock seemed to sulk out to John's office as John went to go change. As he pulled down his blue uniform shirt and ran over the wrinkles he allowed himself a moment to worry. If the creature had taken one victim the first night, and now three at once, it could be assumed it was going to increase exponentially. And this had begun in mid-warp, meaning that it was already aboard the ship and had managed to elude everyone for at least 48 hours, if not more. If it had not been captured already with killing four... John didn't really want to think of how this could be a crew-member gone mad. But first he had to figure out how they were killed in the first place. Those marks only look like they raised the skin; evidence no doubt, but clearly not the cause.

Nothing injected in the body, seemingly nothing missing. It was indeed a mystery; one John didn't particularly like.

John entered his office and with a sigh, saw that Sherlock was already looking at the deceaseds' files on John's PADD.

"Did the autopsies aid in the investigation?" Sherlock asked, light eyes still skimming over the information. His lithe fingers moved over the screen effortlessly.

"Not in the least. For all I could see, they were healthy. Yet there they are on my bio-beds, dead as a door-nail."

"As I have stated before, please halt with your cultural idioms."

"I thought you wanted to get to know humans better for enhanced cohabitation," John noted dryly.

Sherlock didn't seem to acknowledge his jab as he continued looking at the files.

"The copper."

"What?" John asked, his own ideas coming to a screeching stop.

"There is no copper left in the victims."

"And since it wasn't a main mineral to sustaining human life the computers didn't alert me of it - bloody hell! You see this is why I don't trust all this technology overlooking live ability."

Sherlock still hadn't looked up from the screen.

"How did you figure that out anyway?"

"A... hunch, as you humans call it."

"A gut _feeling_? You?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"There is the possibility of Menkes disease that naturally has a human lacking in it, but this is too large a group of people with too little a fraction of carriers. That is a very rare disease; it's nearly impossible for all the patients to have them, much less be unaware of the condition their entire lives, as there was no mention of it in their files. To have a copper deficiency in four specific cases have a hematological and neurological unlikelihood. But why would someone, or something, want copper from a human body? It has so little, as proven through us barely missing what was missing."

Sherlock blinked at John.

"Don't do that," John said with a sigh, "I did get this job for a reason."

Sherlock looked back down before stating, "You are correct in asserting that _humans_ carry a small amount of copper."

John blinked, and then sucked in a rushed breath of air.

"So- what you're saying is that the copper is being sucked out of these people and they're dying of shock at the intrusion on their bodies because... whatever it is is searching for you to drain dry?"

Sherlock's arched eyebrows furrowed.

"Well this suddenly became a large assassination problem. Let me con Lestrade-"

"Do not!" Sherlock snarled. "This is something for me to discover. If the perpetrator was alerted, it would not be engaging anymore. In addition, I would lose the advantage of surprise. If you do not give any alert, the perpetrator will continue and I may catch it."

"Sherlock, more people could _die_," John said angrily. It seemed that all the Vulcan cared about was deducing the final answer.

"You will let me handle this, as I am the intended target," Sherlock stated, eyes narrowing at John in challenge. "If you are so concerned for others, I have a plan."

"Let's make this a sharing circle of two then," John practically growled.

"Between us creating two points, it is impossible to create-"

"Human phrase!" John shouted.

John looked down at Sherlock, shoulders rising and falling with his harsh breathing. Meanwhile, Sherlock remained seated, calm and collected as always. Not a curl or stray emotion out of place.

"I will stay vigil until the time of conflict and conclusion in your quarters. You will join me and we shall proceed once you have terminated your shift."

"Stop it with the protector of the night speech," John said tiredly as he rubbed his eyes. Guilt began to seep in for yelling at Sherlock; it was redundant to try and force human emotions on someone who was clearly not human.

"I will be meditating. I will attempt to find as you say, some 'peace of mind' and I suggest you do the same."

Sherlock then swept out of the room, back straight and hands clasped behind it. John sighed and leaned back against his desk. It felt hollow that Sherlock who looked so young would lecture him on control. Then again, he was a Vulcan, and they seemed to control everything down to their heartbeats.

"It would make me feel better to know you're in my quarters, thanks. Be there as soon a I can," John said to the empty room.

Silence stretched for a few moments before John added absently: "And I'm not gay."

.

Roughly three hours later, John hurried back to his quarters, once again cursing his cane. He didn't bother to greet the somber looking crew members he passed. He assumed that after the silent deaths in private quarters not many people would be sleeping easy tonight- if at all.

John half-expected Sherlock to be gone when he entered his room. The doctor was pleasantly surprised when he did see Sherlock near the foot of his bed in what John assumed to be a deep trance. He wasn't moving and his breaths were long-between and deep.

Deciding that if Sherlock was deciding to rest up, John would do the same. In his frantic need to figure out what had ailed the patients, and dealing with other medical problems, John had barely slept in the past two day rotations. Not that that was much of a change from normal, but it was a different type of exhaustion.

So, barely bothering to take off his boots, he lied down atop the sheets. John told himself he would only rest his eyes for a few minutes before getting back up.


	7. In Blossoming Pink

_Chapter 7: In which there is a Problem (in Blossoming Pink)_

_._

John woke with a start. Even before he sat up stick-straight, he knew something was wrong. Despite being out of the army for months, with no need for constant vigil for someone to attack (and who eventually did), his instincts remained sharp.

He only glanced around the room to fully confirm Sherlock was gone as he threw on his boots. He barely remembered to grab the unregistered phaser in his first drawer before sprinting out, regardless of curfew and regulation. Telling himself to stop and think straight after he'd run a good couple of meters blindly, he opened his comm.

"Authorization code HJ8743."

"Authorization code, accepted."

"Commence ship-wide scan for Sherlock."

"Commencing."

John's body tensed in anticipation as his comm beeped in preparation. Along with the perks of bodily threatening anyone into submission, being the CMO meant he had access to find the location of a crew member on board if he believed them to be injured or in need of assistance. Until now, he'd only had to use it to find people who decided getting a check-up wasn't all that important.

"Science officer Sherlock found. Deck 3, hallway area 3B."

"Cheers," John said absently as he took off in a sprint. He was already on deck three, but hallway 6H. It would take some time, but not all that much if he sprinted.

And sprint the human did.

.

Sherlock realized in hindsight that going against something unknown, with only the information that it wanted his blood, was a little... human. Reckless, headlong- if he had more oxygen his brain could think of further adjectives.

He was sure of one thing: John had been correct in giving the variable of some_thing_ as well as someone. Because as much as he humanized Victor, it was still a plant. And his current aggressor was definitely a plant, despite the nearly four meter size. Sherlock absently thought of how security was doing shit at their jobs if they had missed this on the ship. Then again, they probably had done a life scan akin to a more bi-pedal, intellectual being, not some hideous green monstrosity.

Sherlock grunted as the vines tightened on his body. He lurched out to bite one, but the vine simply avaded his vicious manner and wrapped around his neck. The science officer watched with a slight sting of annoyance as the pink flowers opened and closed in succession; if Sherlock was to guess, it was amused at finally finding its prey.

Of course it would be Anderson's missing plant that would come to literally bite him. And then commence in draining his blood.

Which he felt was happening at the suction on his limbs and torso. It seemed the vines didn't want to try his face and teeth. But then again everything was getting a little hazy and attentive relation of body sensation to his brain was-

"Hey! Ugly green thing!"

For a moment, Sherlock dimly wondered why he was being addressed and if he was simply hearing a taunt similar to those during his childhood. Then he turned slightly to where he'd heard the exclamation come from and saw John with a phaser raised, aiming at the bundle of vines and gaping pink flowers.

"Release him. Or face decomposition," John declared, phaser still trained on the creature.

Oddly, the vines seemed to split off from Sherlock, allowing the Vulcan some freedom to resume lashing out at the restraints. Now that they loosened from their death grip, he began ripping them off. He was dropped roughly on the ground, where he began to cough, his throat feeling raw and entire body aching.

It seemed the creature was split between going after John or Sherlock, and John took that opportunity at its indecision to shoot. It seemed only one shot was necessary, as the bundle of flowers and vines went down in a heap. Clearly John hadn't even bothered with the stun option.

Sherlock shook off any remaining vines and stood warily, leaning against the nearest wall for support, his other hand still latched onto his throat.

"John-" the half-Vulcan managed to say between his coughs.

"Wait just- just a moment," John asked before he leaned over and puked.

Despite his physical distress, Sherlock was at his side in a moment, standing too close. He wanted to offer physical comfort. He remembered vomiting as a child, and how his mother rubbed circles on his back. Yet that was between a parent and child; clearly he and John's bond was not that.

Sherlock still wanted to comfort the man who had saved his life. He decided words may help distract John from his discomfort, despite how scratchy his voice may sound.

"Adrenaline repercussion?"

"No, no, it's a side-effect from all those copper hypos," John said through labored pants.

"You took unnecessary health risks to protect me," Sherlock stated, understanding John's reasons for increasing his copper intake. As being the only Vulcan on board, the plant was attempting to find him. Yet John had injected himself with enough to confuse it. John had attempted to share Sherlock's burden. Sherlock had gone on ahead, alone. Ignorant.

"Obviously, since you probably figured out how I could have acted as a decoy before you... nerve pinched it or something."

"I do not believe that would have worked on this... abomination."

John began to straighten and laugh, but then he leaned back over and his body attempted to dispel what he had already rejected. John only succeeded in dry-heaving.

Deciding to take yet another risk, Sherlock took the extra step closer and placed a hand over the small of John's back. He didn't do any further movement, and hoped that John would appreciate the physical, distinctly human comfort.

"Sorry, gross, I know. Despite all my years in the medical field, you never get over the stench of vomit," John noted as he rubbed his mouth against his sleeve and then grimaced at it. He finally fully straightened.

"What is natural and unavoidable should not be given an opinion. In addition, it is best that this is the sole symptom you have shown."

"Yeah, well, it takes extended expose for other symptoms to show. God knows I don't want to be shitting black," John said tiredly.

John looked up at Sherlock expectantly, and the Vulcan noted with a figurative jump that his hand was still on John's back. He retracted it quickly, moving it to clasp at a wrist behind his back.

"How about we let maintenance do their job and take care of this?" John asked with a grin.

"No one will be aware of your military prowess."

"Medals, why would I need more? Or do you mean you want everyone to know you were the one who figured out the mystery of the ill crew members?" John said with a roll of his eyes.

Sherlock looked down with a barely discernible frown.

"If it helps, I know. And that thing knew," John said absently. "And didn't you want to keep a low profile? Don't think the entire crew knowing someone specially mutated a plant to drink your blood is discrete."

"It is true this information should not become public."

"Then come on, you need some copper supplements. If I didn't use them all of course, Jim said as he began walking away with Sherlock astride.

"I believe you learned something?" Sherlock noted, causing John to jump at the odd phrase and timing.

"Not to let you out of my sight for a second when there's a copper-sucking pink-flowered creature around? Sure it'll come in handy again."

Sherlock pointedly looked down at John's legs, and after a long moment John's face lit up in a smile as he realized he hadn't used his cane. He had full out sprinted without abandon.

"I was right."

"Yeah, yeah it was psychosomatic. Know who else was right? Me. For telling you not to go at it alone."

Sherlock decided silence would prevail during the remaining walk to sickbay.

* * *

_AN: Ok, time to double-fangirl and pat myself on the back. Because I successfully incorporated an aspect of the 'first' episode of Star Trek TOS 'The Man Trap' (besides the pilot) where Sulu had a pink flower. And then arguably the 'first' episode of Sherlock (again, besides the pilot which is nearly identical. Oh lord those JEANS) into a similar plot: people unassumingly dying. Also a similar plot to 'The Man Trap' with copper being taken from the body instead of salt. OH HELLO OCD FOR INTERCONNECTIONS. If you got the TOS hints... you are the best. If not, that's fine! There was enough Sherlock references to tide you over hopefully. Also, reviews appreciated! _


	8. With Complimentary Insults

_Chapter 8: In which there is Confrontation (with Complimentary Insults)_

_._

"Let us commence in arresting Anderson."

Despite his Vulcan persona, John could easily see the excitement in Sherlock's eyes as he focused on Anderson in the mess. It looked like a kid at Christmas... did Vulcans even do holidays? Probably not. Illogical. Probably disrupted their time management as well. Sherlock _abhorred_ time off.

"No, we are not. It wasn't him," John said with a sigh. Yet that didn't stop Sherlock from making his way to Lestrade's table.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said with a sigh, and then added, "John. Always the pleasure."

"Hey Greg," John said with a nod.

Sherlock tipped his head slightly aside, like something hadn't just computed. Probably thought Lestrade's first name was 'Captain.'

"I'm assuming this has something to do with the vine-and-pink-flowered atrocity found last night?"

"Er-" John hedged.

"Affirmative."

John rolled his eyes; he thought Sherlock had wanted a discrete position on this ship.

"How _convenient_ that you found and killed it. And how _convenient_ that your station is aside mine to take the plant and mutate it like that pathetic fly trap-"

"His name is Victor, and he does not appreciate your ill-constructed insult," Sherlock countered, stiffening even further.

"Regardless, thanks as always, Sherlock," Lestrade noted like a habit.

John perked at the familiarity. While John had recently been acquainted with Lestrade (mostly through John saving one of Lestrade's relatives at EC11, and so personally knowing his skills), it seemed that Sherlock had been holding back information from John. Not like the stoic pointy-eared madman told him anything of importance. Only that he should iron his shirts or stop trying to make him sleep.

"John," Sherlock said suddenly and abruptly, "I am appalled that I, even momentarily, believed Anderson to be involved. He clearly lacks in every intelligence field required to create such an experiment."

"Go suck a carrot and choke on it," Anderson snapped.

"I would personally recommend you go fornicate with an ancient reptilian species of dismal intelligence. Except it seems your ancestors already took that advice."

"And here I thought that we were on the most advanced ship in the fleet," John sighed, seemingly to himself as everyone was focused on the showdown in blue.

"Would you just leave already, _freak_," Donovan chose to finally say.

John noted Sherlock's eyes narrow minutely before he was turning on his heel, leaving a half-said insult at Anderson behind.

"We should grab a pint sometime, John. Perks of being a Captain, always got some Romulan Ale around somewhere. Always love to talk with a fellow British mate," Lestrade said in parting.

"Yeah, some other time," John said before heading after Sherlock.

* * *

_AN: Now you know why I wanted Anderson to be part lizard-thing. Just for that insult to be possible. You're welcome._


	9. An Umbrella

_Chapter 9: In which there is a Visitor (with an Umbrella)_

_._

John wandered down a hallway to his quarters almost aimlessly. His body was probably moving on muscele memory alone, since his mind was anywhere but on the task of getting back to his room.

Throughout his latest shift he'd been contemplating about Sherlock's clear aggression against Anderson and Donovan, and then the woman's one word that had seemed to affect Sherlock more than necessary. Nearly making him show some type of emotional reaction.

"Doctor Watson."

John looked up and nearly gaped at the woman before him. She had dark hair, but pale purple skin and large golden eyes. Definitely drop-dead-gorgeous. And if John wasn't anything but an enthusiastic doctor interested in all types of alien bodies, what good was he as CMO?

"I request your time and attention," she said, still not looking up from her PADD.

"I am traveling the stars for exploration," John said as he looked her over again. A curvy body, that matched curly hair - definitely something he could appreciate.

"I am flattered," she said before turning on her heel, letting him follow.

.

Sherlock gazed without seeing at the ceiling of John's quarters. He was currently lying on a couch that was adorned with a British flagged pillow. Humans and their odd need for individuality and sentiment.

"John, pass me my PADD. I need to put down this equation to send it to that useless Head Engineer."

Sherlock was only met with silence, which made his eyebrow furrow slightly in confusion. Based on his impeccable internal clock, John should have been back at his quarters 16:53 minutes ago (and still counting).

But then Sherlock got distracted by another equation, and thoughts of John's whereabouts were forgotten again.

.

"Doctor John Watson."

John didn't believe he could handle one Vulcan, but now there was seemingly two. Just fantastic. Since he had no term to address the man before him, John remained silent. His fingers twitched at his side before forming fists.

The Vulcan's dark eyes darted to his hands before focusing back on his face. Despite not changing his empty expression at all, John had to resist the urge to shiver. It was clear knowledge that a Vulcan could easily crush a human with his superior strength. And no doubt this man was smart enough to dispose of his body without a problem if he could sneak onto the Baker without anyone knowing. Lestrade was going to have a fit.

"I am led to believe you have come into contact with one Sherlock," the man continued to say as he stood there in his pretentious suit of black. He showed no insignia of belonging to Starfleet, and that made John want to twitch again. Unlike Sherlock, he looked more typically Vulcan, with deep brown eyes and a bowl-shaped haircut. Unlike Sherlock with his unruly curls, he could easily see the curving of his ears.

"Why should I tell you anything," John snapped. He glanced around at the empty engineering level they were on. Definitely discrete enough to kill someone. Damn that beautiful alien that had conveniently disappeared as this man came into view. John needed to stop following women. But not loving them, because he wasn't gay. And all that.

The Vulcan's eyes narrowed before he absently twirled what looked like a silver rod.

"I enjoy humans," the Vulcan said as the rod John had been following turned into... an umbrella? "They have such odd inventions to deal with harmless problems."

The Vulcan then proceeded to hold the umbrella over him. If John wasn't so on alert and weirded out, he would have quipped it was considered bad luck to open an umbrella indoors. Yet the blond had a sneaking suspicion that the alien didn't want to be critiqued on human manners.

"Can I go now," John snapped.

"Humans and Vulcans share a personality trait at times. Loyalty. It seems that you are one of those humans. But for Vulcans it does not depend on the person; we are loyal to the end."

John gulped; he recognized a threat when he heard one. He also recognized when he was being commed, as the device at his side chirped. John didn't make a move to answer it; this Vulcan was fast and John was not taking his eyes off of him. His military training made sure to never let his guard down.

"I want to leave."

"How about we have a little agreement- you give me information on Sherlock intermediately and I give you credits."

John snorted, and the Vulcan's nose seemed to crinkle for a brief moment. John's comm chirped yet again.

"I would be careful, John Watson, your Vulcan is showing," the man said before he disappeared in a show of glowing gold.

John let a sigh of relief pass through him. Leave it to a stony Vulcan to make a show of how easily John could be crushed, then leave in a dramatic flash. So far, going off of Sherlock and this man, Vulcans seemed to enjoy flare.

Sighing again, this time in annoyance, John finally flipped open his comm while he made his way back to his quarters. On the screen were messages from Sherlock, mostly all just demanding that he get back to his quarters.

From one Vulcan to another - what had John's life become?


	10. In Sherlock's Lab

_Chapter 10: In which there is a Conversation (in Sherlock's Lab)_

_._

"So I met someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Sherlock seemed affronted, looking up from the plant he was working on with his protective goggles still in place.

"I mean someone with a similar personality and appearance."

"I am a unique specimen to this universe," Sherlock stated stubbornly.

"A fellow Vulcan," John finally gave away. He had been hedging the topic for a few day rotations now, but had finally decided Sherlock deserved to know.

Sherlock's shoulders seemed to lift in relief at that before he turned back to his propagation.

"Aren't you interested to know how another Vulcan got onto Baker when you're the only one who should be?"

"Did he show you the umbrella? He enjoys to tease humans like yourself."

John sighed; of course Sherlock wasn't worried about someone who seemed to want his green-tinted skin. He had gone after something especially bred for his curiosity and seemingly hopeful demise alone. He clearly didn't need John to help along.

"I'm leaving now," John said before he turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for Sherlock's response. Most times he didn't acknowledge John had gone; and then sometimes John would come upon the Vulcan at random. Especially in the mess, where he would unexpectantly be addressed without Sherlock noting upon his presence. John supposed it was better to pretend talk to him rather than Victor.

"He is excessively dramatic," Sherlock said as he continued on his plant, causing John to stop leaving.

"I noticed," John said, but it seemed that the other hadn't heard him.

"He and I do not have an agreeable bond. He is a nuisance and I avoid him at all costs. Although you should have taken the credits - I could use some for more fertilizer for Victor."

This was the first time Sherlock had expressed a personal opinion on anything. Well, rather than Anderson but he didn't need to say anything for his disagreement to show. John waited for him to continue.

"He and I have a continued aggression towards the other that I do not see ceasing in the foreseeable future. Please refrain from excessive conversation with him."

"You say that like I'm going to see him again."

Sherlock finally looked up and gave him a what John was thinking of trademarking as a 'No Shit, Signed: Sherlock' look. Or maybe John should have custody of it, since it was always directed at him.

"I'll be in my quarters, eagerly awaiting either of you Vulcans' presence," John quipped before actually leaving this time.

Sherlock looked up for a moment to illogically watch him go. Despite having the same shade of blue uniform as all the other scientists around, it was easy to discern John from them. It had become increasingly easy to spot the doctor when Sherlock gave the attention to look. Yet sometimes he was tricked into believing that John was consistently aside Sherlock.

The Vulcan started, dislodging curls tucked behind his pointed ears. It was time for science, not stalking.


End file.
